Das Korn war golden
by Gigantisch Romantisch
Summary: Kunze offered only eight lines for the audience to figure out how Krolock's first kill went, so I thought I'd expand on it.


Brightness. Pain. He didn't know what he felt first, but both sensations equally made him moan in anguish. His entire consciousness was consumed by them, no awareness existed beyond them, no memories.

One word fought its way through the layers of torment: hell. He had died and Satan had dragged his soul down to the firy pits of the netherworld for unending torture.

Or perhaps not. He could feel a change, so faint at first he thought it was just wishful thinking. The brightness remained unbearably bright. However the pain slowly subsided to a dull thudding through his body in the rhythm of his heartbeat.

No.

No heartbeat.

His eyes flew open in horror and he groaned at the red hot lance the rising sun jabbed through them. He lifted his bare arm, pressing the flesh against his eyes until the welcome darkness erupted in a rainbow of sparkles.

Remaining like this, caressed by the sunlight he tried to shun, he gradually became aware of the rest of his surroundings. Grass against his naked back, whispering in the faint breeze. He listened and let it soothe him until he realised it was not just the grass that was whispering.

A voice. Female voice. Saying what. A name? His name, he thought, though he had a hard time recalling his name.

"You're still alive," she breathed, her voice full of unshed tears of relief. "I thought I had lost you."

Her hand was tender and warm against the skin of his chest.

"You haven't," he replied hoarsely, though he wasn't sure that was true. Though agony pulsed through him in a steady rhythm, it wasn't the rhythm of his heart. Didn't she feel that? Her hand was right there.

Bits and pieces of last night started to come to him. The memory of pain pushed itself to the front of his mind, demanding immediate attention. A different pain than what he was feeling now, sharp and confined to his neck. He moved his other hand and felt the spot where the memory lingered, but nothing was there.

"I thought he'd killed you," she whispered. "That he'd taken you from me."

Carefully he lifted his arm from his face. Squinting in the coppery sunlight he looked at the woman.

Wife, his consciousness handed him. Pretty face, looking too young to have born him a son two years ago. He remembered he cared for her.

"I'm still here." His voice croaked as if he hadn't spoken in years. How long had he been unconscious?

A few hours at most, he realised when he recognised her dress as the one she had been wearing when they had left her father's manor for an evening stroll through the golden fields of grain. The Summer nights were lengthening already, but the hours of darkness were still short and the sun had not even finished coming up. Still the light stung his eyes and scorched his skin.

Sudden relief washed over him. The sun. He was here, in the sunlight. Perhaps she was right and he was still with her. "I'm here," he said again and some of his old resonance return to his voice. He sat up abruptly, ready to go, but the world started spinning and darkness nibbled at the edge of his vision.

"Be careful, my lord," she said, gasping. "He took…" She faltered. "You've lost a lot of blood."

Slowly he lay down again, the gras tickling his back as it gave way under his weight. He took a lot of blood. Indeed he had.

He had been there, suddenly, as a shadow appears when a candle is lit. The smell of death had wafted from him and they both knew what he was. Protectively the count had stepped in between his wife and the devil.

"Lovely night for a stroll, isn't it?" His voice was pleasant enough, but his eyes were cold blue fire deep inside their sockets. They promised suffering,endless and intense.

"It was," the count growled. "Get away from us, we will not surrender!" He tore at his cravatte to reveal the crucifix he was wearing about his neck.

The fiend merely shrugged. "You don't have to. I'm stronger than you are." He stepped aside, again and again. The count kept pace to always stay between him and his beloved, eyeing him as he would an angry boar during a hunt.

"She looks delicious," said the demon appraisingly. "I can't wait to taste her."

Behind his back his wife whimpered in fear and he tensed up even more. "You'll have to get through me, first," he hissed, fists raised. His breath came in ragged gasps, but terrified as he was, his anger was still stronger.

"Gladly. You look even more delicious."

Faster than the naked eye could distinguish the devil was upon him, growling as a beast. "So hungry," he wailed. "Please, let me finally take my fill…" Without even seeming to notice the powerful blows the count dealt him, he bared the counts neck and struck.

The pain had gone, he realised when he withdrew from the memory. Though the pulsating hadn't stopped, it was different now. It felt like a void, waxing and waning in a slow cadence, increasing in size with every new expansion. He sobbed and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Her hand on his shoulder, softer and warmer than ever before. He could feel the life flow through it and the void lurched inside him.

He knew what it was, now, but he resisted it. It didn't have to mean… He was strong, he could fight it, their life together could still be what it was. He had always gotten what he had set his mind to, this should not be different. He wouldn't allow it.

"We should go back," she urged him softly. "Can you walk? I don't want to leave you here and get help, he might come back to finish the job."

Without a word he rose. The world spun around him and his stomach heaved, but he didn't give up until his was on his feet, swaying but upright. One of his boots had gone and the leg of his trousers was ripped.

He remembered the vicious clawing of the monster taking his fill, shredding his jacket and blouse to get to where he needed to be. It was remarkable his body had remained unscathed. Perhaps the devil didn't want to spill any blood he couldn't then drink.

"Let us go," he said, still hoarse, and stepped forward.

His knees buckled and he found himself on all fours, panting as if he had run all the way from his own castle to his wife's family mansion. Doggedly he got up again.

She slipped her arm around his waist and he shuddered at the touch. Pride almost forbade him to put his arm on her shoulders for support. Almost.

He looked down on her and she looked up at him, worried but intensely relieved. With a strength he did not possess he pulled her into an embrace, overwhelmed by emotions he had no name for. "I love you," he whispered for the first time since he had set eyes on her. He put his face into her auburn hair and inhaled.

The void expanded until it filled him completely.

"I love you too," she said breathlessly. He could hear her surprise and suddenly wondered why he'd never said it before.

Perhaps it hadn't been true until now. "When I'm better," he began, determined to get better, to resist the void swallowing him whole, but he could not finish his sentence. His body started trembling, his breathing became jagged and then ceased completely.

She looked up at him in concern but he could only see the slight blue ridge in her neck. His fangs extended.

"I'm losing," he stammered, horrified more at his own failure than at what it would lead to. His resistance crumbled under the pressure of the overwhelming hunger. When only the foundation was still standing, he looked her in the eyes and surrendered.

Under the clear morning sky, she died in his arms.


End file.
